


All Those Miles Behind Us...

by Kennel_Boy



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 04:12:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18328388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kennel_Boy/pseuds/Kennel_Boy
Summary: On a cold winter night in Rose Creek, Goodnight and Billy enjoy warmth and memory together.





	All Those Miles Behind Us...

**Author's Note:**

> _Prompt: Goodnight/Billy, fluff, "c’mere, you can sit in my lap until i’m done working"_
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> Another prompt from [Poemsingreenink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poemsingreenink/pseuds/Poemsingreenink), who seems to have a knack for putting me back in the mood for this AU. ;) Takes place in the same setting as _[Drown Out The Storm.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15745530)_

Goodnight’s forays into published literature hadn’t been accidental, not in the least. But the catalyst had been most unexpected, namely, that copies of an an unforgivably inaccurate account of the battle at Rose Creek (penned by a shop clerk who’d run off before the fight, no less!) had made their way into Stoner’s general store and become the subject of some very heated discussion amonst the citizenry.

Once Goodnight had stopped fuming over the framing of himself and Horne as the heroes of the piece (“Ours are the only names that damnable whoreson even bothered to learn!”), the way the rest of their Seven had been reduced to little more than supporting characters (“Billy, this son of a bitch keeps referring to you as my ‘Chinese manservant’!”), and over-mention of certain details (“I’d say I’ll have to go up the street and shoot the bastard on principle if he mentions Ms. Cullen’s ‘comeliness’ again, but I’d not dare rob her of the pleasure.”), he’d retaliated in the only impactful way he could think of: writing his own version as rebuttal. 

Goodnight was a consummate purveyor of bullshit; it was, in part, how he and Billy had managed to get by on their wide-ranging circuit. He’d never expected to take up a pen in service of the truth*. He’d expected even less that the combination of his infamous name and the promise of violence and adventure would lead to truth being a modest financial success.

Cash was usually a successful lure for Goodnight, and current circumstances made it even more so. Since settling in Rose Creek, Goodnight had taken up the mantle of businessman and that came with employees to pay and a hotel to upkeep, not to mention the bum leg that kept him indoors more often than not, and his not having nearly enough work to keep his brain occupied most days now that his body was somewhat more fragile than he cared to think on. So he’d taken up his pen again, applied a liberal dash of finest bullshit to the truth, and started writing out his and Billy’s travels as dime novels. The books didn’t do so badly, but the volume of material required to keep the income flowing meant there were few days where Goodnight wasn’t trying to hammer a new tale into shape.

The wordsmithing was going poorly today, but Goodnight couldn’t find it in him to be out of sorts. There was a good two feet of snow outside, but he was sitting cozy in the lobby of _The Elysium._ They had all of two guests in-house and no hope of foot-traffic, so Goodnight had retired from the receiving desk and planted himself on the padded bench closest to the lobby’s pot-bellied stove. The restaurant had shut more than an hour before, and even the parlor ladies had retired for the night. 

Goodnight would have taken the time to just enjoy the quiet and go back to his writing, save for the fact that Billy was idling at the bottom of the staircase, looking prickly enough to chew his own arm off just for something to do.

Goodnight cleared his throat to get Billy’s attention, then grinned his way. “If you’re starving for work, you could go sweep off the porch again. That’s a task worthy of Sisyphus.”

“Then I’ll just be bored and cold,” Billy muttered. And oh, lord, the knives were out. Literally - Billy had a blade in each hand, twirling and brandishing them with vigor that was somewhat alarming even for someone who knew him well. Not that he blamed Billy at all - two days of heavy snow was enough to send a far more sedentary man than Billy Rocks stir crazy. But that didn’t mean Goody had to leave him to suffer.

Goody moved his cane from the bench and beckoned Billy over.

“Why don’t you just come join me?” Goodnight’s grin went wicked as he patted his knee. “C’mere, you can sit in my lap until I’m done working.”

Billy rolled his eyes, but slipped the knives slipped into their sheaths. There was a subtle half-smile lingering about his lips as he approached. 

“Shameless old man.” Goody huffed laughter into his beard at the insult, but denied nothing. Billy settled in beside him and nodded down at the paper held loosely in Goodnight’s hand. “Want me to read that before you send it off? Faraday said you might as well have called that last one _A Love Letter to Billy Rocks._ ”

“As I recall, you proofread that one too.”

Billy smirked and draped an arm over Goodnight’s shoulders. “I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it.”

Goody sighed in appreciation of the extra warmth. Falling off a church roof had given him a few new joints he hadn’t been looking for, and though his bones had healed well, the cold of winter planted a bitter ache in each and every mend.

“You know you’re my favorite editor, _cher._ I just don’t have all that much for you to edit right now. I’m still spoiled for choice when it comes to relating our exploits.” Goody tipped Billy a look. “Any memory in particular you’d like to see committed to paper?”

Billy considered, then nodded at the snowy windows. “You could write about that winter in Alberta.”

“Lord Almighty… Billy, I’m still trying to forget Alberta! Man was not meant to exist that far north of the Mason-Dixon! I ain’t fully convinced I’m thawed out yet.” Goodnight pressed that much closer to Billy and wrapped his arms around himself for dramatic effect… then paused. “It’s not a bad idea, come to think. I could probably get a full installment just out of the trip up there.” 

Silent laughter tremored Billy’s chest before he spoke again. “See? It’s a good idea. And easier to think on now that we’re past worrying we’ll freeze to death.”

“Or get shot at. Or trampled by rampaging moose.” Goodnight sighed, his mood sliding entirely to contentment again. “I know I fuss about going soft, but this is a good thing we’ve got here. All those miles behind us, and a roof, a soft bed, and a warm stove waiting for us at the end of it.”

“Could have ended a lot worse. Good thing I talked you into it.” Billy smoothed Goodnight’s hair and kissed the crown of his head. There wasn’t anyone around, but Goodnight expected Billy wouldn’t have been deterred by witnesses. One of the reasons they’d stayed in Rose Creek was the exceptional leeway given their situation; Goodnight still had his skeptical moments about how much tolerance being local heroes actually earned them, but those moments were fewer with each month that ticked by and were dwarfed by the pleasure of seeing Billy secure enough to be demonstrative. Nothing warmed him better than those moments when Billy was sure of their safety and so relaxed that he would give in to the simple human impulses too often denied him by the reality of his race and their own particular, peculiar love.

“Third most intelligent choice I’ve made in this life,” Goodnight agreed. He resettled himself and braced paper and pencil against his good leg. “All right, then. The road north. What was that wagon master’s name…?”

The snow kept piling up aside, but it was of no concern as Billy and Goodnight fanned their memories out in the light of their single lantern, deciding which ones to share and which were to be kept for their pleasure alone.

**Author's Note:**

> *Goodnight would defend at least 90% of his version of the Battle for Rose Creek as being truth, which, in his opinion, was about 88% better than the clerk had done. But even he’d confess, he’d had to fill in a few gaps here and there with second-hand accounts and educated guesses.
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> Billy: You made it sound like I killed half those mercenaries myself.
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> Goody: Well, _cher_ , you’ve got to remember, I missed the first half of that fight. How can I be certain you weren’t responsible for all those corpses in the street? ❤


End file.
